Prairie Fire (27 page)

“They do that?” I said.

“Oh, yes, and dragons too,” Peter said. “They're vicious creatures.”

“Do you still slay dragons that way?” Courtney asked, her face alight with interest.

“We use deep-keeled motorboats and a synthetic compound instead of stone,” Peter said. “But more or less, yes.”

Owen was looking at Peter with a speculative expression on his face. Porter rolled his eyes.

“We're not on holiday, Thorskard,” he said.

“I know, sir,” Owen said. “But if there's something nearby, I'd love to observe.”

“I'll ask my mother,” Peter said. “This time of year, there's usually one or two Aleutian Salties swept off course in a storm that wash up on the beaches and cause trouble.”

“Tomorrow, Peter,” Porter said, and there was no time to reply, because Peter's uncle was back at the mic.

“Again, welcome,” he said. “Please make yourselves at home here, for however long you stay.”

With that apparent dismissal, the younger members of Peter's family came to see him in a throng, and it was all introductions and handshakes until we began migrating to where there was a buffet set up with enough food to feed most of Peter's town, all of the newcomers, and us as well. I couldn't balance my plate in one hand and serve myself with the other, so I waited while Davis got me a plate.

“Peter tells me you would like to learn to drum,” said Peter's mother, appearing near my elbow.

“I would,” I told her. “But I don't think we're going to be here long enough.”

“Your Owen hopes to see a slaying,” she said. It wasn't exactly a question.

“Yes,” I said. “Frankly, so do I. From a safe distance, if possible, but he likes to see how other people work, and I have to write about it, so it's best if I see it with my own eyes.”

“We don't hunt dragons,” she said. “There is a balance in nature, and the orcas slay many dragons on their own.”

“Doesn't that pollute the water?” I asked.

“Most saltwater dragons need fish from the ocean to survive,” she said, shaking her head. “It would make no sense for them to poison their own food source. Their bodies break down in salt water, and cause only a little damage.”

“What about non-ocean dragons?” I said.

“They are a problem,” she replied. “Which is why we don't slay them unless we have to. That's what the dance means, at its heart. We can protect ourselves and those we welcome to our homes, but we don't slay indiscriminately.”

“I suppose that's a good policy.” I said it as diplomatically as I could. I was hardly one of the people who believed we should be actively seeking dragon extinction—to start with, I was pretty sure the human death toll would be too high—but I wasn't exactly keen on just letting them have their own space, since they tended to infringe on
my
space. I was also, of course, responsible for the damage on Manitoulin Island, which she must have known, but if she chose to judge me for it, she kept it from her face and manner.

“It was easier, before,” she said. “There are more dragons now, and more people. And fewer fish.”

“I like the totem poles,” I said. “Fort Calgary's are striking, but they are plain.”

“The Oil Watch didn't want to make their dragon slayers superstitious,” Peter's mother said. “So they didn't decorate their totem poles the way we do. But we learned how to slay dragons from the orca, so we put their image on the poles to remind us.”

I looked at the totem poles again, and now that I knew they were supposed to be orcas, I could see it.

“Some have other designs,” I said. “Do they all mean something?”

“Of course,” she said. “You have songs to tell your stories, and we have these. Each is a chronicle of a famous Haida dragon slayer. I can tell you about them, if you want.”

Before I could answer, Davis appeared with my plate, and I had to juggle it, my cutlery, and my glass towards one of the long tables that had been brought into the community centre.

“Maybe tomorrow?” I said. Our shortened schedule ensured we'd make our train but left no time for the tour Peter had originally suggested. “Before we leave?”

“That sounds like a plan,” Peter's mother said.

The only thing we talked about at dinner that night was how we imagined dragon slaying from a canoe would work. Courtney went through about eight napkins trying to sketch a plan for a canoe with enough ballast to hold together under the strain of a dragon pulling on it, and she and Aarons spent most of dessert arguing about the math involved. Porter watched them with a fond expression but quickly turned away when he realized I had seen him.

Peter sat with his family, or at least the closer members of it, for dinner. I could tell he was glad to be home. I never had asked why he'd gone to Alberta, or why he thought wheat farming was a good alternative profession for a man from a forestry family. Of course, he'd never asked me why I wasn't a doctor or an accountant, so I supposed that was fair. He looked different here, though. And the banjo voice that had been out of place on the flat of the prairies seemed to fit better with the ocean as a backdrop. He was so different from Nick and Owen, both of whom were instruments meant to be featured. The banjo did better as part of the whole, like I did, with countermelody. We were more alike than I had thought, but we were also tied to homes in very different places. If I had ever thought of him in a “maybe someday” sort of way, those thoughts ended when I saw the way he sat with his cousins, the way he fit into the music here. The way his rhythm matched the beat of the drums.

Those drums weren't for me, but I could still feel them in my blood as I sat and ate, for once not in any hurry to finish with everyone else. I watched Owen and Nick talk animatedly to each other, presumably wondering if they were strong or accurate enough to get the lasso around the dragon's neck. Aarons had tried to get Nick's engineers on his side, but Courtney's argument was prevailing, and one of them had finally cracked open a drafting book so that the rest of us could have something to wipe our mouths on when we finished eating. Asking the professionals probably occurred to them, but they were obviously having too much fun to do that. It wasn't home but it was home-like, and I was glad we had this much time, even if tomorrow we were getting back on the train for more days of monotony.

I knew it was foolish to wish for dragons, but in that moment, I found myself hoping we would get to see one slayed while we were here. The drums were in my blood, and I wanted to see if I could write the song to go with them.

THAT LOVELY YOUNG WOMAN WHO PLAYS THE PIANO

Owen did not get to see a pod of orcas slay a dragon. I'll admit to being a little disappointed as well, if only because I wanted to see Peter's cousins pilot the canoe. (Six of them were dragon slayers, though only two were official enough to have served in the Oil Watch.) Instead, we spent our morning in Port Edward watching the dragon slayers practice marksmanship. Eventually, Peter offered to show me the larger totem poles down on the seafront. I'd seen about all I wanted of Nick trying to explain to Owen how to follow his shot, so I agreed. Laura raised her eyebrows at me as we left, but I had already figured out how I felt the night before, so I wasn't as unprepared as I might have been.

The beach was freezing and more than a little treacherous for walking since the rocks were coated with frozen spray. The sea ice, heaved up on shore by angry winter waves, proved to be an obstacle worthy of the most grueling course at Basic Training, and by the time we reached a good vantage point, I was winded and sweating inside my coat and gloves.

“You really slay dragons out there at this time of year?” I asked, pointing at the roiling grey ocean.

“Well, no,” Peter admitted. “This time of year we either leave them for the whales or try to get them on shore. But Owen looked so excited, and I didn't want to break his heart.”

“He's tougher than he looks,” I told him.

“He looks pretty tough,” Peter said. “He's enormous, for starters, and when he's in uniform, he looks very authoritative.”

I considered it. I was still used to thinking of Owen as the weedy kid I'd gone to high school with. But he had changed a lot in the last two years. I looked down at my hands, soaked inside my gloves.

“I wanted to thank you,” I said. “For helping me with the music. It's been hard for me, for the past while, and you made it fun again.”

“I had fun too,” Peter said. There was a cautious hope in his eyes.

“I kind of wish we would be able to keep doing it,” I said, doing my best to pretend I was Sadie and actually good at this. “But with you on this side of the Rockies and me on the other …”

“Yeah,” he said, and the hope fizzled. I felt something in my stomach unclench. He didn't look angry, or even particularly sad. More wistful, I guess. I could handle wistful. “I guess that's always going to be a problem.”

“They are pretty substantial mountains,” I pointed out. “Plus, you know, Chinooks. If I ever see one of those again, it'll be too soon.”

“They're going to keep you in Alberta for a while,” Peter said.

“Ugh, don't remind me,” I said, and laughed. “Tell me about the totem poles, please. It'll take my mind off it.”

Peter grinned and launched into story after story of the dragon slayers who had protected his family's lands. Some of them were people Peter had known, and others were figures out of legend. It was fascinating to hear the two types of stories together. And always, there were orcas.

“They taught us how to slay dragons,” Peter repeated. “So it's seems only fair to honour them.”

My hands had gone from overheated to freezing in that awkward winter way, and I rubbed them together, blowing air, though that did little to help.

“We'd better get back,” Peter said. “Your train is leaving soon, and I think your squad might miss you if you're not on it.”

“You're probably right.” I looked out over the ocean one last time. I might never see it again. There was something odd in the water out towards the island where I now knew the bulk of Peter's family lived. “What's that?”

Peter looked where I was pointing and smiled.

“Orcas.” As soon as he said it, I felt silly for not realizing immediately.

We watched the pod play in the waves, their six-foot-tall black dorsal fins cutting through the water like a sword cuts through a dragon's hearts. One of them even breached, and I saw its white markings, a sharp contrast to the black flanks. On the totem poles, they were often painted red too, which made them look fierce. Seeing them in the ocean, I decided that they were fierce enough without the red on their sides. They were sleek, and when one opened its mouth, I saw teeth that would put a soot-streaker to shame.

“I'm glad they're on our side,” I said to Peter as we scrambled over the ice back towards town.

“I think you might be surprised to find out how many people are on your side,” Peter said.

“I didn't mean a real side,” I said. “I meant against the dragons.”

“Well,” said Peter, holding out a hand to help me down the side of a particularly steep piece of ice, “there are dragons and there are dragons.”

“That doesn't make any sense at all.” I slid down and landed beside him. He squeezed my hand through the glove and winked.

“My cousins slay dragons,” he told me. “I've sat in the canoe while they do it.”

“Don't tell Owen that,” I said. “That will actually break his heart.”

“I'm serious, though,” he said. “I've helped slay dragons. We all have. We work as a team, like your Guard does in Trondheim.”

“It just seems practical,” I said, more to myself than to him. I thought for a second that he might say something else, but he tripped on an outcropping of ice and I totally failed to catch him, so he tumbled down onto the rocky beach while I followed as quickly as I could.

“I'm fine,” he said. “Just a stupid trip.”

“If you're sure,” I said. “Ilko can look you over, if you like.”

“No, I'm good,” he assured me. “I just didn't see that one in time.”

I pulled him to his feet, and he didn't let go of my hand. Most people were so careful with my hands when they knew my injury, like it would still hurt, but Peter was never like that. He held my hand like it was totally normal.

“It's not like we can't talk to each other,” he said, after a moment. “The mountains can't block the Internet.”

“True.” I didn't pull away.

“And we can still do songs,” he said. “I'll try to record an orca slaying on video, if I can.”

“Owen would appreciate that,” I said. He smiled ruefully, and let go of my hand at last.